


An Evening In

by Temaris



Category: Cotillion - Georgette Heyer, HEYER Georgette - Works
Genre: Cotillion - Freeform, F/M, Future Fic, Georgette Heyer - Freeform, Yuletide, Yuletide 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before Christmas Eve, and Freddy and Kitty are faced with a new challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cdeacon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdeacon/gifts).



Freddy Standen held his son and heir warily, between two outstretched hands. "What exactly am I supposed to do with you?" he enquired. Walter Henry Charles Standen blew a bubble thoughtfully up at his Papa, but offered no comment on the decidedly unnerving turn of events that had left the two of them in each other's sole company.

"Brandy?" the Honourable Frederick suggested hopefully. "If you don't mind, then, I will." He cautiously laid the small white wrapped bundle on the escritoire, and headed to the sideboard. "I suppose you'd rather have milk, but I have to say, no gentleman of standing would permit himself the solecism save under duress." He turned and eyed Walter. "That swaddling looks like duress enough. Also, there ain't any milk."

He drained the snifter of brandy, and hesitated over a second, but as it transpired, it was not needed. Inspiration struck. "Perhaps we could call on your Aunt Meg, and join your Mama." He scooped young Walter up, and headed for the windows. The curtains had been drawn against the winter cold, and when he drew it back he rather recoiled at the sharp chill coming off the thick glass.

"See that, Walter? That dreadful stuff is called snow. The ruination of a perfectly good night's fun, and the end of all good things," he said rather glumly. "Your Mama will doubtless stay at Meg's house, and we will be still here come morning instead of warm and safe in Hertfordshire, and we will spend Christmas like a pair of émigrés in a palace: riches everywhere but nothing for us."

There was no question of setting out to drive to the country in this weather even if Kitty had made it home from Meg's soiree. The tits would founder in ten miles, and they'd deserve to freeze to death in the snow if he were so foolhardy as to try. The servants -- Kitty's girl, Walter's wet nurse and nursemaid, and his own manservant -- had left for Hertfordshire some six hours previously, and the rest had left for their Christmas holiday during the evening, until it was just the two of them left behind. He'd had hopes of still making it into the country that evening with the full moon, but as the hour advanced and the weather worsened, he'd had the groom put the horses up again.

"Well, your Mama will be having a pleasant time with Meg," he comforted his son, who seemed largely unmoved. Walter wriggled and managed to extract an arm from the tight swathing, but didn't seem to know what to do with it once safely extracted. He waved it idly and Freddy caught it, tucking his forefinger into the small pink palm which promptly gripped his finger tightly, waving the two together.

"Are you having fun?" Freddy nearly dropped the baby at his wife's clear tones.

"What are you doing back?" he said, disconcerted out of his usual good manners. "I thought you'd stay at Meg's house."

Kitty frowned. "Lady Buckhaven was -- *old* Lady Buckhaven -- invited Aunt Augusta."

Freddy's eyes widened. "I'm amazed you stayed so long."

Kitty flushed. "I could not leave Meg until they had retired -- she pleaded so not to leave her alone with them! And, Freddy, truly, I could not leave her, you would have stayed yourself."

Freddy noted that given his Aunt Augusta's presence, he might have fled the building at the first opportunity, and left Meg to her fate.

"Oh, I couldn't!" She was swiftly divesting herself of hat, robe, cloak, multiple shawls and what appeared to be a large blanket. She scooped Walter out of his hands and rubbed her face against his swaddled chest, "What *are* you doing with the baby?," she asked, and dropped little kisses all over his face.

Walter frowned and burst into tears.

"That's no way to address your mama, young man," Freddy observed. "Good lord, Kitty, does he make that noise often?" The wails were of long duration, each one rising with enviable range and strength from merely objectionable to truly painful to listen to.

"I don't think so," she said, rather uncertainly. "Do you suppose he wants something?"

The unfortunate Walter, correctly recognising that his parents were not bestowing upon him the proper measure of attention redoubled his efforts.

"Where's Sarah?" Kitty asked, and hurried over to ring the bell for the nursemaid before Freddy could intervene.

"Gone," Freddy said succinctly. "They've all gone, no point pulling on the thing."

"Gone?" Kitty whirled to face him. "*Where* have they gone?"

"Up to m'parents."

Realisation dawned on Kitty's face even as Freddy spoke, and she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth. "Oh Freddy! I *forgot*!"

"You don't say," he snipped back, and when her face crumpled, hastened to add, "Only meant, couldn't be any other explanation. Wouldn't deliberately snub m'mother and m'father--"

"Oh, *no* Freddy, not when Lady Legerwood has been *so* good to me," Kitty said with the lingering sense that her unconventional betrothal had only dodged total social disaster by the good graces of her mother-in-law.

"--wouldn't get blind drunk at Meg's -- got too much sense to let you!"

"I wouldn't, Freddy!" Kitty said with some indignation.

"Know you wouldn't, that's m'point. Must have forgotten," he concluded, and with a vague memory of some childhood class, added, "Quod erat whatsis," and nodded firmly.

That established, the young parents returned to the problem of their unhappy offspring whose wails were now accompanied by sobs.

Kitty and Freddy, fond parents that they were, had instituted a regime of benign neglect, where Walter was largely left to the tender mercies of qualified staff and wheeled out for inspection and interested affection at regular intervals. _It wouldn't do,_ Kitty had said firmly, _to fall into the trap of so many young parents, of doting too much on their child and becoming bores on the subject!_

Freddy, amiable to the last, and entirely conscious that his interest in the infant his wife had so laboriously produced was largely confined to ensuring he didn't turn out a loose screw (which would not require much intervention until a rather later date, he presumed), agreed that too much doting affection would be socially disastrous, and continued his life rather as he ever had.

The overall effect was they weren't entirely sure what to do with their weeping infant, although fully desirous of doing *something*, (anything!) to stop the dreadful sound.

"When did he eat last?" Kitty asked, and Freddy tried to guess.

"Couldn't have been sooner than two hours, everyone left by then."

"Oh, poor dear," Kitty said compassionately, scooping Walter up and clutching him close. "I believe babies need very regular feeding -- like kittens or lambs."

Fascinated, Freddy asked, "Do they?" This categorisation of his son into 'small creatures requiring frequent feeding' gave him considerable pause. "What, like a pup?" A number of other thoughts were crowding in behind this notion, many of which entailing the memory of the considerable mess that pups left before they were trained.

"Well, I suppose so. Uncle never allowed me to have a dog, and I wasn't allowed to keep one of the kittens from the kitchen cat, but I don't see why not, it makes perfect sense that it should." Kitty's face lit up, "We should get a dog, and they can play together!"

"Not in town, Kit, wouldn't do," Freddy said, shocked. "Dogs in Hertfordshire, tell you what, get you a canary for Town."

"Oh, if you think that would be better," Kitty agreed, and they smiled at each other. Walter hiccupped a last sob, and Freddy paused.

"He's gone quiet," he observed in a whisper. "Is that normal?"

Kitty was bouncing the baby absently, swinging to and fro in place, "I suppose so," she said dubiously. "I think he's sleeping." She cuddled him closer, then froze, lifted Walter a little away from her and sniffed.

"Freddy."

"Yes, Kitty?"

"Do you--" she sniffed again, and pulled a face. "I think we need to find some water, and clean clothes for Walter."

Freddy's worst fears thus realised, they repaired to the kitchen, Freddy snagging the brandy as they left.

Kitty unwrapped Walter, who kicked happily, unconscious of his lack of clothing. Both Freddy and Kitty recoiled at the soiled napkin, but Kitty rallied.

"Meg's nursemaid showed me this," she said confidently. "I need some cloths and warm water." She looked expectantly at Freddy, who began poking inquisitively around the kitchen. It only took a few minutes to locate the pump, though it took rather longer to re-establish the fire in the cold hearth. That left just clothing and a clean napkin. Ordered to the unfamiliar territory of the nursery Freddy caused havoc in the neat little room before returning to his small family triumphant: a small frock, a handful of clean white linens and best of all, a bottle.

Kitty in the meantime had disposed of the noxious napkin, and cleaned up. By the time Freddy returned she was sitting on the hearth, oblivious to the smuts and soot, playing with the baby.

"He is so clever, Freddy," she exclaimed as he returned, "He looked to see who was coming, and I'm sure he knew you! You saw your Papa and kicked, didn't you?"

Freddy blinked. He was not entirely convinced that he could pick out his son were he to be placed (by some mischance) in a row of similarly attired infants. However, if his three month old son could manage it, then he felt obligated to make the effort to reciprocate. He pulled a chair over to the fireside, "Kitty, your dress!" and held out an arm. Kitty suitably arrayed in her chair, he pulled another over for himself, and held an arm out for his son. "Really?" He held his son and looked him in the eye. "Walter?"

Walter relieved himself.

After a certain amount of confusion, which involved the Honourable Frederick exchanging his clothes for an older, rather less modish ensemble, and Kitty falling out of the chair laughing, they regrouped.

Walter was restored to the dignity of clothes with surprisingly little drama. Freddy fortified himself with a little more brandy and some ham and cheese pilfered from the pantry, and served his wife with aplomb when she looked wide eyed at his plate. They tried a little cheese on Walter, but as Kitty sagely observed, he probably did not yet have the palate for it. Certainly, it seemed to mostly end up dribbled into his smocked neckline.

Freddy obligingly cleared Walter's plate for him, and made further explorations of the pantry where he found no milk, but a half loaf of bread, which, when mashed with a little sugar and water seemed to make an acceptable substitute. Kitty fussed a little about clearing their plates, but Freddy convinced her to leave them for, if not the staff, then at least the morning -- the thought of boiling more water on the dwindling fire frankly horrified him.

Kitty tucked herself next to him on the sofa in the small salon upstairs, and closed her eyes with a happy sigh. "This has been such an adventure," she said happily. "I had no idea how easy managing a baby could be."

Freddy made a non-committal noise that indicated his attention and interest without committing himself to any desire to repeat the experience. He sincerely hoped that by morning they could repair to Meg's (if she were still in Town), or an inn (if she was not), and avoid any chance of having to again fend for themselves and their hapless offspring, but he had gained enough wisdom in more than a year of close association with Kitty to avoid saying any such thing to her.

"Wouldn't it be lovely," she went on, "Just the three of us, in a little cottage in the country."

"You'd miss Meg in a heartbeat," Freddy said.

"She could visit," Kitty replied.

"Meg? In a cottage?" Freddy leaned back to look incredulously at his wife. Kitty giggled.

"Perhaps not. And I would miss--" She waved a hand to encompass not merely their pleasant little townhouse, but London, the Season, everything that made life a delightful experience, and such a contrast to the penny-pinching regime of her uncle. She sighed, and petted the baby on her lap.

"When do we go to Hertfordshire, Freddy?" Kitty asked. "We're missing everything." She had been looking forward to Christmas with the Legerwoods in their country house, with all the children, and the young people from nearby families. Last year it had been glorious, something quite outside her experience, and she had been looking forward to a repeat for weeks. Her confinement and long recovery had forestalled an early return to Hertfordshire, and somehow it kept getting later and later, and now, here they were in an empty house in an empty city, while everyone else was having fun.

"When the weather lifts, Kit," he said firmly. "I'm not killing the horses to get us there."

Kitty sighed. "We'll have to get some milk for tomorrow," she said a little later, sleepily.

Freddy dragged one of the discarded blankets over them, pressed an unfashionable kiss on his wife's hair, and fell asleep.

(Come morning the skies were crisp and clear, and they made excellent time into Hertfordshire, well wrapped up and merry. Safely home, Christmas was everything that they could hope for: Kitty delighted in the games and laughter; Freddy in the congenial company and a truly remarkable burgundy that Lord Legerwood produced to toast the heir's first homecoming; and Walter in the sweet relief of proper food, and his own dear nursemaid.)


End file.
